


Life During Wartime (This Sure is a Party)

by gloss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bucky & Children, But I have so many feelings for these awesome dipshits, Coffee, Gen, I DON'T EVEN GO HERE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pool Party, The Party Needs A Deadly Assassin, pinch hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Aurilly's prompt is genius:Because of course they hide the Winter Soldier in the basementAfter the Battle of Starcourt, Will has superpowers, Steve and Robin are unemployed, Mike's sulky, and also there is an unconscious Soviet agent out by Hopper's cabin.





	Life During Wartime (This Sure is a Party)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).

> ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

That Monday, July 8, dawns hot and sticky. The occasional breeze only serves to bring in the smell of manure from the fields surrounding town. Mayor Kline has declared today _Back to Normal!_; adults are returning to work, while teens are trying to get jobs down at the mall cleanup site.

Dustin, Max, and Lucas arrive at Cerebro after lunch. Sleeping in was a great idea, but hiking up the hill in the blazing noon sun was not. Mike's already there, fiddling aimlessly with the knobs.

"Watch it, dude!" Dustin shoves him and Mike bonelessly rolls away.

"Think we could prank call Mr. Clarke with this?" Max asks.

"He'd know it's us," Lucas says. 

"Not me," Max says. "He doesn't know my voice."

"You were in his class all year!"

"But I'm not in his club for weirdos," Max retorts and folds her arms in triumph. She kicks Mike, who lies sprawled in the grass. "Where's El?"

"She and Will had doctor's appointments," Mike says without moving or even opening his eyes.

"Psychic brain twins," Lucas says with great, and undeserved, authority. Max hushes him, but he replies, "What? It's true. We all know it."

Mike sits up, scowling, and loops his arms around his knees. "We don't know anything."

Dustin curses as he returns his settings to his preferences. Glancing around Cerebro, he says, "We basically know."

"Shut up!" Mike shouts.

Max and Lucas mime zipping their lips while Dustin snorts and returns to fixing his knobs. 

"We _don't_ know," Mike says a little later. He sounds sulky. "That's all. I want to be clear. 'Clarity is —'"

"'The first quality of thought', yeah, yeah," Dustin says, completing the currently à propos quote from Mr. Clarke. "Thing is, man. We know."

Groaning, Mike rolls a little farther away into the taller grass.

*

The explosion of the Soviet key, the collapse of the Mind Flayer monster, Billy's death, _and_ the closing of the gate all happened nearly simultaneously. That makes diagnosing what happened to El and Will all the more difficult.

Before the Battle of Starcourt, El was a telekinetic and remote-viewing powerhouse, while Will was little more than a redundant alarm system. By the time his neck fluttered, they usually already knew the Mind Flayer was near.

In the aftermath of the battle, El's telekinesis seemed to go on the fritz, but Will could now hear the thoughts of anyone he touched. By the next afternoon, she managed to crumple some paper towels and a Garbage Pail Kid card and send a clear thought _when is dinner???_ to Will from two rooms over.

"I don't know what to do," Joyce confesses to Dr. Owens. Will and El are waiting outside, tossing a pink Spaulding ball back and forth, Will with his hands, El with her mind. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Well, first of all, you thank your lucky stars I still make housecalls," Dr. Owens replies, but when Joyce doesn't laugh — not even a smile! Tough audience — he wipes his hand over his mouth and tries again. "They're healthy kids."

"Maybe a little _too_ healthy," Joyce mutters.

"Healthy kids," he repeats, "just...fortified with extra qualities."

"They're not breakfast cereal!"

He looks away from the counter, where there is, indeed, an open box of Raisin Bran. "It's not a bad analogy, Mrs. Byers." He gestures at the empty chair across the table. Sighing, Joyce sinks down and fumbles to light her cigarette. "The gate's healing, the Russian energy, hell, even that fleshy thing...any one of them could have interacted with the kids' previous connection to the Mind Flayer. Throw them all together in a blender, and you've got a creamy soup of possible causes."

"Mom!" Will yells through the kitchen window. "We're going to go check Hopper's cabin."

Joyce puts her head in her hands. _Why me?_, she thinks, so Will responds, "To get some of El's stuff."

"See?" Joyce says to Owens. "This is my life now. What am I going to _do_?"

He helps himself to a cigarette.

*

Dustin's hardly surprised when he hears Russian on the shortwave. "Zhimnee, zhimnee," he repeats so he doesn't forget. "Voz'mi kofe, voz'mi kofe."

"You're delusional," Lucas tells him. "We're going to Hopper's, see if there's anything cool."

"Nudie mags," Max says, rolling her eyes. "They want to find the nudie mags."

"Gross," Dustin says impatiently. "I'm going to Robin's, I'll meet you there."

"Suzie know you have another girlfriend?" Max asks, but Dustin's already hustling down the hill. "Wonder what she makes him sing."

"The Smiths," Lucas says. "Probably the Smiths."

"Are you coming or not?" Mike demands from halfway to the trees. "Do I have to do everything by myself now?"

"What's his problem?" Lucas whispers.

"Undies too tight," Max suggests. "Little Mike Jr.'s all bunched up?"

They're hooting with laughter as they let the downward momentum rush them toward Mike.

*

"I'm trying to _sleep_, Curly," Robin says when she answers the door.

"It's like three in the afternoon!"

"And yet I like napping," she replies.

"Russian!" Dustin pants. "I need a translation!"

He fixes himself a big tomato sandwich, plenty of mayo, while she flips back and forth through the dictionary.

"Wintery...person," Robin announces finally. Dustin long ago finished his sandwich and now he's sucking on a blue popsicle. "Wintery person, retrieve your coffee."

"That doesn't make any sense."

She closes the dictionary. "Since when do Russian spy codes make any sense?"

He nods, acknowledging her point. 

"It's probably leftover anyway," she says. "Someone left a tape running somewhere."

"I don't think so..."

"Anyway, scoot," she tells him. "Need my sleep."

"We're still on for Steve's pool tomorrow, though, right?"

She grins, planting her hands on her hips. "Believe it, little man."

He high-fives her.

*

"Looks like someone beat us here," Mike says as the three of them approach Hopper's cabin. 

A figure lies facedown in the path.

Lucas prods the body with a stick. It reacts, there's the sound of a groan, but the person doesn't wake. Lucas pokes harder, lifting the hem of the ratty denim jacket that's way too warm for the season.

"What is that?" Max breathes.

"Knife holster," Lucas replies. He gets closer and squints at the handle. "Holy jeez, that's —." He pokes the stick again, this time lifting the jacket to the figure's armpits. "And that's a pistol. And a grenade in his belt on the other side."

"What the hell?" Mike asks.

"Guys, this is, like. Spetsnaz-issue."

"What's Spaznet?" Max and Mike ask at the same time.

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Spetsnaz. Russian Special Forces? Badasses in Afghanistan? Do you ever watch the news? Jesus."

Mike shifts his weight back and forth. "What do we do?" 

"Wait for him to wake up," Lucas replies. "I'll take point. You guys can relieve me when it's time."

Neither Max nor Mike actually know what he means when he gets going with the paramilitary Rambo jargon. They nod and move off.

*

El and Will walk companionably, silently, through the woods. At the height of summer, it's a much nicer place than when El lived here. Her memories of the bleak, bare branches and stain of squirrel blood on frost-blackened leaves, however, come through loud and clear for Will. He shivers as he takes her hand and squeezes.

She likes having someone who understands. Will might not have her powers, but he's the only one who has been into the Upside Down, the only other one who felt the Flayer inside his body, the only inside-out person.

They both sense the unconscious man before they see him. It's not a fully-formed premonition, just a cold tingle deep in their chests and a wash of sorrow that cuts right through them. Neither of those things make any sense until they step out of the underbrush onto the path and see the body.

«What's wrong with him?» El kneels next to him.

«Dunno,» Will replies.

"Get away! Get away!" Lucas yells from the other side of the clearing.

Startled, they turn as one to see Lucas squatting in the crotch of an oak tree, the Wrist Rocket trained on the sleeping man.

"What is your problem?" Will shouts.

"That's an unconscious Russian infiltrator," Max answers, stepping into view from behind another tree. "Supposedly."

"He looks like a drunk bum," Will says doubtfully and nudges the man's arm with the toe of his sneaker. 

"Where's Mike?" El asks Max.

"Right here," Mike says from inside the cabin. He pokes his head through one of the tentacle-driven holes. "I found Hopper's porno stash."

"Gross!" Max says while Lucas sidles closer to the cabin.

Just then, Dustin arrives on his bike. He skids to a stop, throwing up a very cool wave of dead leaves and dirt.

"Guys, we have bigger challenges than a dead man's taste in giant butts," Dustin says, then looks sheepish. "Sorry, El."

She nods gravely.

"Winter needs to retrieve his coffee," Dustin continues, dropping his bike and stepping close to the body. "Or his coffee went cold in the winter? Voz'mi kofe, voz'mi kofe!" 

At that, the man's hand flies out and grabs Dustin by the ankle, flipping him onto his back in the muddy leaves. "Motherf—!"

The man squats like a cornered animal, gazing around at them with narrowed eyes. His hair hangs in his face like blades. As he shuffles around, taking them in, he starts to relax, as if reassured that they're just kids.

"We're more than just kids," Will says before he thinks better of it.

The man wheels around to peer at him. Will steps forward, just within arm's reach, and reaches out a trembling hand. 

"He's not E.T., doofus," Lucas says.

"Shut up!" Max tells him.

"He might as well be," Will replies without looking away from the man. He turns his hand so the palm is facing up and waits.

"Look at the mind reader," Mike mutters as he steps through the hole. "Reading minds."

El frowns at him, but Mike shrugs.

Finally, the man reaches out to touch Will's palm. His fingers — his whole hand! — are metal.

"He's hungry," Will tells the others. "Other than that, he doesn't know anything more than we do."

*

They decide to keep him in Mike's basement for the time being. It just feels right: he can hardly stay in the destroyed cabin, but Mrs. Byers would have way too many questions if they bring him there. The Sinclairs' house is out of the question. As Dustin notes, "Love her to death, but Erica does _not_ need to be part of this."

"Why not your house?" El asks Dustin as they all make for Mike's.

Dustin exhales gustily. "My mom's not very good at respecting boundaries."

She just looks at him blankly.

"I mean," he continues, "she lets herself into my room all the time. Plus, what if he's allergic to cats? That wouldn't be fair to him."

"Oh," El says. "That makes sense."

"You're worried about his _allergies_?" Lucas asks.

"I'm not worried! It's possibly a concern, that's all!"

Will walks next to the man. Part of him wants to hold the metal hand, but whether that's to reassure himself or the man, he isn't sure. He settles for thinking of the calmest things he can, like the music on Windham Hill records his mom likes, and Sunday morning pancakes with the sun brighter than orange juice, and how it feels to climb out of the bath and wrap up in a clean towel.

«I'm Will,» he thinks. «What's your name?»

The man shrugs. "Dunno."

El looks over her shoulder at them. She looks surprised when Will smiles at her, but then she smiles back. Mike looks back, too, and moves behind her, blocking her from view.

«That girl is El,» Will tells the man. «She has superpowers.»

"Like comic books?" the man asks. He has a slight accent, but not like a foreign one. Like he's not from Indiana (obviously!). Maybe Boston or New York? He sounds like someone on _Hill Street Blues_, now that Will thinks about it.

"Yeah, like comic books," Max says from the man's other side. "You like comic books?"

He nods slowly. "I think so."

"I'm Max."

"Hello," the man says, so seriously it seems like he might bow.

*

At Mike's, his mother's car is gone, so they raid the kitchen for snacks before taking the man down to the basement. Will shows him how to work the television and the man sits stockstill, mesmerized.

In the far corner, the party debates their next move. 

"He's a Russian agent!" Lucas nearly squeaks. "We have to turn him in!"

"What kind of Russian speaks English like that?" Max asks.

"Um, a _spy_?"

"But he's not spying on anything," Dustin says. "He's just...hanging out."

Beside him, Will nods. "My mom said that Alexei was like this, too. Maybe it's a Commie thing?"

"What is?" Mike demands. "Watching TV?"

Will shrugs. "Yeah?"

"Then wouldn't that make _us_ Communist, too? We watch a lot of TV."

"No, but —" Will turns helplessly to Dustin. "Explain it."

"We believe in property," Dustin says confidently. "In the C-C-C-P, you can't even own your own teddy bear!"

Lucas nods vehemently. "It's true."

The man coughs into his hand. "There's lots of room for personal property under Marxism-Leninism. Just not private property."

No one says anything.

He sips his Capri Sun pouch until it collapses and points at the can of Pringles in Lucas's hand. "Gonna finish that?"

"Here," Lucas says dazedly and hands it over.

"It's U-S-S-R, by the way," the man says. "Cyrillic letters just look like the Latin C-C-C-P."

"A spy _and_ a know-it-all, great," Lucas mutters. "But also conveniently amnesiac."

The man glowers at him. Lucas starts to take a step back, then stops and frowns back. The man grins at that and empties the can into palm before stuffing the crumbs into his mouth.

By then, it's nearly time for dinner. Will decides to sleep over, but everyone else scatters for home.

*

"I don't know, guys," Mike says the next morning when they reconvene. "El was one thing, but this guy eats _a lot_. My mom's bound to notice."

"What do we call him?" El asks. "He needs a name."

"That's really not the most important problem right now," Mike says.

El frowns. "It's very important."

On the couch, the man spoons Sugar Smacks into his mouth without looking away from the television. He is hyper-focused on, of all things, _Today's Special_, a show so stupid even Holly Wheeler turns her nose up at it.

"What should we call you?" Max asks.

He shrugs. "I'm an asset."

"Yeah, you are," Lucas mutters.

*

"What did you dipshits do now?" Steve asks, not opening the door all the way. "Who's the hobo?"

"We found him," Dustin announces, pointing to the asset. "We need some clothes for him. And food. And a place to stay."

"Go away, dude." Steve tries to close the door but at a look from Dustin, the asset stops the door with his metal hand. Steve's eyes widen and he takes a step back. "Right, I meant come on in, the more the merrier, mi casa su casa."

"Muchas gracias por su cálida hospitalidad."

"He speaks Spanish, too?" Max whispers to El as they head inside. El nods and shrugs, so Max tugs on the asset's shirttail. "You speak Spanish, too?"

"Guess so," he replies.

"Why me, Henderson?" Steve asks. "What did I do to deserve...whatever this is?"

"Look, we can't get clothes from Mike's dad or Lucas's. He'd look like an idiot! And Will said that Jonathan's bound to notice anything missing from his closet, plus —" He looks around, makes sure that Max isn't within hearing distance. "We thought about taking Billy's stuff but that seems disrespectful?"

"Good call, yeah. But again I ask, why me?"

Dustin grins and slaps Steve's arm. "'Cause you're rich and also you dress cool!"

"Oh," Steve says, ducking his head a little. "Thanks."

Robin rings the doorbell ceaselessly until, cursing, Lucas gets up to let her in. Wearing a plain blue Speedo, she pushes through the entry way to the back, dinosaur floatie around her waist and giant sunglasses on her face.

"Oh, shit," Steve says. "Pool party. You guys go...cannonball or whatever, I'll get the hobo cleaned up."

"I'll come with you," Will says.

"Whatever." Steve takes the stairs two at a time, leaving Will and the asset to climb far more sedately after him.

In his room, which is nearly the size of Will's entire house, Steve waits with his fists on his hips. "Okay, house rule #1: you shower first, got it?"

The asset nods. "Shower."

"You won't, like, rust, will you?" Steve asks, stopping him. "The cleaning lady would probably notice that."

The asset glances at Steve's hand on his arm. His lip lifts, almost like a snarl.

"Suka," Steve breathes, dropping his hand and stepping back.

"What's suka?" Will asks.

"Curse word," Steve tells him. "Heard it when we were in the hole."

The asset's gaze flickers over to Steve. He tilts his head.

"He's cool," Will tells the asset. "I promise. Just kinda goofy."

"Goofy," the asset replies.

"Yeah, goofy!" Steve puts in. "But also a hardened veteran of your interrogation techniques, so don't think you can break me."

"Shower," Will says, pointing to the bathroom. "We'll get you some clean clothes."

The man hesitates, his fingers opening and closing at his side. Finally, inhaling, he nods and turns for the bathroom. He does not, however, close the door as he strips and climbs into the shower.

To distract Will — sure, he's technically a teen, but the kid's seen enough shit, right? Protect what's left of his innocence, that's the ticket — Steve tugs him over to his dresser.

They lay out an outfit that just about perfectly matches what Steve's wearing, differing only in terms of patterns and colors. Ocean Pacific tee,  
slip-on checkerboard Vans, boxers, button-fly jeans.

"Russians love Levis," Steve says authoritatively. "My aunt's boss traded like forty pairs of these when some Polish horse-riding team came to her town."

"He's not Russian," Will insists. 

"We don't know what he is," Steve points out. "But he knows Russian, right?"

"And Spanish, and English."

"So either he's a professor of literature, which I doubt, because did you see his hair? Or he's a spy of some kind. Hey! Warn a guy!"

The asset appears next to them, towel around his waist, metal arm shining with condensation. With his hair combed off his face, he looks a lot younger, flushed and even more handsome. 

"Those for me?" he asks.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I'll be in the pool. Knock yourself out."

Will sits gingerly on the other side of the bed while the asset dresses. "Steve's okay," he ventures when the quiet has grown so heavy he's starting to think it will never break. "I promise."

"Steve," the asset says quietly. Then again, even more softly, "_Steve_."

"That's his name," Will jokes, "don't wear it out."

"All right," he replies. "I won't."

*

They cannot come to anything resembling, or even approaching, consensus on what to do with the asset. Three days pass; the asset gets comfortable by Steve's pool. He tans quickly, which makes his eyes go from stony blue to something brighter, like the sky. (That is Will's opinion, which he is careful not to share with anyone, though El picks up on it and agrees with his description.)

"Why do we have to do anything with him?" Dustin wants to know. "He's rad! What party couldn't use a deadly assassin-spy?"

"What am I, chopped liver?" Steve asks. "I want in on your party."

"It's a D&D thing," Dustin reminds him.

"I know that," Steve snaps. "Still want in."

Sitting on the end of the diving board, Mike lies back so all he sees is blue sky fringed by the black and green tips of trees. 

"Maybe you should read his mind," he says. "Find out who he is, what he wants."

"Who are you mumbling at?" Max asks from the water.

"What's wrong?" El asks, floating beside Max. She shades her eyes, then yanks on Mike's ankle. "Mike."

"You and your best friend Will," he says. "You should read his mind."

"He's not my best friend," El replies.

Max dives under and swims away. This is not the fun kind of argument to witness.

In the house, Will is washing watermelon seeds and juice off his hands when he gets a feeling. That's the best way he can describe this: someone's feeling something, feeling something _strongly_, and he feels the presence of the feeling.

He steps outside. The sun bounces off the water in a thousand directions, casting a shining net over the side of the house and the grass. Steve and Robin are wrestling for a hand-rolled cigarette; Lucas and Max are floating with their heads inclined together as they share secrets. El is talking, very intently, to Mike. Mike's smiling, finally, like his old self.

The asset is asleep in a deck chair. His arm glows.

*

El and Will try that evening. Steve gets the asset high, arguing that this will help him relax, but no one notices any change in the guy, other than his eyes going bloodshot. But they're all red-eyed after days in the pool, so now, as El says, "you match us."

He nods. 

He's sitting cross-legged in the Harringtons' yard under a citronella torch. El's leaning against Mike's chest, his chin resting on her shoulder, while Steve and Will complete the circle. Dustin's in the kitchen getting more lemonade; Lucas and Max had to go home.

Inside the asset's mind, it is winter. Bleak and empty, and very cold. In the far distance, there is a train, and El and Will walk over the tracks that span a chasm. On the other side, there's a city street and people in old-fashioned clothes. A skinny yellow-haired kid wheezing as he shouts, "Bucky!"

«Bucky,» El thinks. Next to her, Will nods and squeezes her hand. In the real world, Mike holds her tight and forgets to breathe.

"Bucky," Will whispers.

The asset's eyes fly open and he shudders so hard that Steve pulls off his rugby shirt and wraps it around the asset's shoulders.

"Bucky," Bucky says, hunching in on himself. 

"That's a dog's name," Dustin says, then stops short. "What? What did I miss?" He scowls. "You started without me? Guys!"

"I'll catch you up," Steve promises him. He's still got his arm around Bucky. 

No one moves for so long that the grass cools and goes wet with dew around them.


End file.
